


Everything

by AHS



Series: Songfic Series 1 (Kiss You Goodbye) [3]
Category: Actor RPF, Queer as Folk (US) RPF
Genre: Gale pov, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-25
Updated: 2007-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:37:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHS/pseuds/AHS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glimpses of a very happy, kind of adorably domesticated life together :)  Gale's pov.  The last scene, it's up to you how far in the future it is.  Songfic using "Everything" by Michael Buble.  Part 3 of 3-part series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I made this up.
> 
> "Explicit" bit is incredibly brief. Sorry about that, lol.

~ Gale’s pov ~

_You're a falling star, you're the getaway car_  
_You're the line in the sand when I go too far_  
_You're the swimming pool on an August day_  
_And you're the perfect thing to say_

“Quit it.”

“Quit what? I’m not doing anything.”

I struggle first to show no reaction, and then to look irritated, but I know I don’t manage either as Randy’s fingertip glides over the sensitive arch of my foot. He sits next to me on the couch, my sprawled out form long and overlapping onto his lap. He pretends to read… and maybe he is, being quite the talented multi-tasker… but really he’s surreptitiously tickling me, subtle touch up from my heel to my toes and back again. Creating a line of fire and ice and the feeling of riding a Ferris wheel in my senses, that makes me want to laugh, and I do.

“Read your damn book, Rand,” I say in between chortles. “Leave my foot alone.”

“I love your feet,” he tells me, pinching my toes gently in his fingers and wiggling them one by one. “I’ve always thought they were one of your sexiest features. How ticklish they are is just a bonus.”

“You’ve got a few vulnerable places on your body I can think of.” Not sure if I mean that as a threat or a come-on, but I know which it sounds like.

“Do I?” He furrows his brow in faux confusion as he tosses his book aside, pulls off those cute little glasses, and crawls temptingly up my body. “I can’t remember. Why don’t you show me again?” Then he grins.

_And you play it coy, but it's kinda cute_  
_Ah, when you smile at me you know exactly what you do_  
_Baby, don't pretend that you don't know it's true_  
_‘Cause you can see it when I look at you_

The only way to wipe that grin off his face is to coax his lips into more… interactive positions. So, I kiss him. I feel his mouth melt into mine, making my hands want to search out some of those _vulnerable places_ I know so well. I palm his perfectly round ass, fingers pressing soft teasing fabric into his crack as they slide over and down, between his legs, and tickle his balls. I feel his body’s immediate reaction… the tightening of his muscles, the twitch of his cock against me.

“Hey,” he gasps, amused and aroused. “You play dirty.”

I nod into his neck, licking the skin… so warm, so tasty. “When I play dirty, we both win.”

He agrees.

*****

_And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times_  
_It's you, it's you, you make me sing_  
_You're every line, you're every word_  
_You're everything_  


He laughs at us, how we move as in sync, as anticipating of what the other needs in the kitchen as we are in the bedroom. He moves from the sink to the stove and I fill the space he just left, slight brush against him intended and enjoyed. The water boils over a little and I’m there with a dishtowel, sopping up and snickering at his curses. He reaches his arm back and I place the needed spice in his hand without a word, just a kiss to his forehead.

After the meal is prepared, we sit together at that table in the living room I always bang my shin on, eating and watching the dreaded medium, TV. He actually likes some shows, but I know when he wants me to change the channel just from the way he inhales.

“We’re like an old, married couple,” Randy says with a smile, his soft, blond head in my lap, after I have correctly read his mind for the thirty-sixth time of the evening.

I should say that we have mind-blowing sex much too frequently to be an old married couple, but I don’t. No. I say the first and all too honest thing in my fucking head.

“Except we’re not.” The regrettable part is that I think I sound almost sad… _Shit_.

“Of course, you’re not old, Gale.”

“That’s not…”

“What?”

I’m sure he could read my mind if he looked in my eyes, but I’m not sure I want him to. So I hop up to get another beer.

*****

_You're a carousel, you're a wishing well_  
_And you light me up, when you ring my bell_  
_You're a mystery, you're from outer space_  
_You're every minute of my every day_

In the nearly two years Randy and I have lived together, there hasn’t been a day he hasn’t needed me to pick out his clothes for him.

I don’t pick out his clothes. He doesn’t want me to. But he’s fucking needed me to.

That’s something else he laughs at. That, as the “gayer” of the two of us (which, I reply, seems a pretty arbitrary distinction by now), he is the one who cannot put together an outfit to save his life. Meanwhile, I always… well, at least when I‘m actually trying… look _fabulous_.

I grimace at the combination of striped shirt, plaid slacks, and newsboy hat that would be adorable if it wasn’t fucking _crochet_ , adorning his body today. See, this is why he should just always be naked.

Then again, even in that eyesore ensemble, I still think he looks incredible. And I wonder who the hell else could pull that off. No one, that’s who.

I sneak up behind him as he’s memorizing lines for his latest tour de force performance. I’ve got scenes I should be working on, too. Eh, we can help each other rehearse for our respective projects later. Now is now, and when I sense a break in his concentration, I pounce. The fun of his bad clothes is always getting to take them off him, anyway.

*****

Despite Randy’s worries, the world at large hadn’t seemed to care that much that we were together. We got a couple of thirty seconds or less mentions on Entertainment Tonight and that was pretty much it. Yes, some mild hounding by New York photogs, so we spent a couple of weeks at the house in Toronto until it died down. We’re hardly A-list celebrities, so we weren’t worth stalking that far. After a while, we got to just _be_ , unbothered.

Even our fans received the news with simply a collective, happy, “We knew it all along.”

*****

It took Randy about a year to not think I was going to leave. Whether he imagined me running back to the “straight world” in general, or specifically running away from him, didn’t much matter. I guess the change came gradually, over days and nights and weeks and months of me just sticking around. Or maybe it was when I started calling his mother “Ma”… I don’t know. But once he felt truly safe with us, that I was with him for life, tests were taken and passed, condoms were thrown away, and we haven’t needed them since.

*****

_And I can't believe, uh, that I'm your man_  
_And I get to kiss you baby just because I can_  
_Whatever comes our way, ah we'll see it through_  
_And you know that's what our love can do_

“Gale…”

Pushing inside Randy, pulling back, thrusting in even deeper. His body sucking me inside, taking me, owning me. I’ve been addicted to that feeling, the billion sensations, ever since the first time… _fuck_ , over five years ago. Maybe even before then, I just knew I needed to be inside him. I was addicted all those years of doing without, living on the memory, and I’m every bit as hooked now that he’s mine.

And the need never lessens. It gets stronger every day, every time.

I love how we get so hot, sweat drips from the backs of his knees and makes his legs slide off my shoulders and I have to hold them. I love how deep his voice gets when he’s begging me to keep going, keep fucking him _just like that_. I love how he always kisses me as he comes, and that makes me come, too. I love that he can feel my cum warm inside him, feel it dripping out of his ass. Partly for the pure pleasure, but also because of what fucking raw says about us. What it really means.

I love fucking Randy. I love that fucking Randy is making love to Randy.

I fucking love Randy.

And I love that tomorrow night… his eyes tell me wickedly when I raise my head from the shoulder I was biting… it will be my turn.

*****

_And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times_  
_It's you, it's you, you make me sing_  
_You're every line, you're every word_  
_You're everything_

“Gale, you need to call Thea.”

I quirk my eyebrow at him, because that is a strange thing to hear when we’re in bed naked, sweaty, tangled, and just barely come down from a couple of fucking spectacular orgasms.

“You know I adore T, but why do I need to call her?”

“She left a message yesterday. She wants to get us an anniversary present.”

The roll of my eyes matches his. Next week will mark two years since that day in the stairwell that really began our relationship. It’s not that we don’t celebrate anniversaries, but they hardly need to be a cast-wide event. But Thea is not easily discouraged. Though everyone found out fairly quickly we were together, it took her over a year to drag any details (such as places and dates) of our hooking up out of us, so she missed the first one. Undoubtedly, she is looking to make up for lost expensive crap-buying time.

“I’ll call her tomorrow. I’ll tell her to come visit us, if she wants to get us something nice. We can make out in front of her and watch her go drooly fangirl on us.”

“That’ll be fun.” His hands pause stroking my chest and I can sense him thinking about whether to say more. “Gale?”

“Yeah?”

“I just… I want to say… we could have been a disaster.”

“O-kay.”

“I‘m serious. We probably should have been. I mean, your track record with relationships wasn’t the greatest to start with. And, a relationship with _me_ was bound to present new… challenges. Challenges to who you were that I couldn’t even have faulted you for if you’d run from. I knew you loved me, but I still kept waiting for you to run. But you didn’t.”

“No reason to run when you’re right where you want to be.”

I sift my fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them and regards me with delight… masquerading as pity.

“That is pretty damn sappy.”

I just nod my head, having resigned myself long ago to being full of sh-… _sap_.

“I love you,” he says. I wonder how it thrills me every time.

“I love you, too.” I get this impulse… that isn’t really an impulse, ’cause honestly I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I don’t fucking know what to do with it. I feel his heartbeat sliding up my skin as he moves to kiss me, and I search for a way to make my head and my heart happy. “You know what, Rand?”

“What?”

“If I believed in marriage… this is the part where I’d ask you to marry me.”

He stills. Everything stills. He helps me, going along, a bit playful, so that I can keep breathing.

“You wouldn’t wait for our anniversary?”

“Fuck that. Too predictable.”

“Gale, there’s nothing predictable about you and marriage mentioned in the same breath.”

I smile. He’s right about that. “I’m just saying… if I _did_ believe in marriage, then… with you here in my arms, all kinds of naked…” I strum his bare hip and he giggles and shivers. “I’d ask you.”

Randy takes a beat. Looks long into my eyes. Sees that I mean it. Takes our left hands and places his atop mine. Laces the fingers.

“And, if I believed in marriage, this is the part where I’d say yes.”

_And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times_  
_It's you, it's you, you make me sing_  
_You're every line, you're every word_  
_You're everything_

We just lie there… grinning.

“Hmm. It’s kind of a shame we don’t believe in it, then,” I can’t help but say.

“Yeah… You never know, though. I mean, six months ago, I didn’t believe in that peanut butter and jelly in the same jar, and now I’m a total convert…”

“’Cause that’s the exact same thing.”

He thwaps my shoulder and my sarcasm lightly. “I never said… Fine. Two years ago, I didn’t believe _this_ was something I could have outside of my dreams.” He pulls me onto my side, facing him, and wraps his arms around me, so tight. “I was wrong.”

“Thank fucking God for that.”

“So, who knows? Maybe someday we won’t both find marriage such a terrible, unnecessary idea.”

“You’re just afraid Rosie O’Donnell will try to make us march on Capitol Hill with her and turn us into show ponies at some press conference.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, a laugh bursting forth. “But maybe one day, you know… we’ll just _want_ to do it… Oh, I get to pick our song!”

“Well, you better hope we change our mindsets before too long, Rand, because you’ll only be young for a little while! You’re almost 30,” I whisper menacingly in his ear.

His birthday is only a couple of months away. He is queening out already, evidenced by the fact that he doesn’t even think to point out that I’m eight years older than he is anymore. He just groans and hides his face in a pillow, my chest, whatever’s near.

“Will you still love me when I’m old?” he mumbles.

“Yes, Rand. Old and fat and incontinent.”

“Yuck.”

“And if your teeth fall out first, I’ll chew your food for you.”

“You are reaching new levels of weirdo, Gale.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“Yup.”

“And want to marry me.”

“…….”  


*****

_You're every song, and I sing along_  
_'Cause you're my everything_  
_Yeah, yeah_

“I love this song,” he sighs into my shoulder, humming a little bit.

“Guess you chose well, then.”

“As soon as I heard it, I thought, _That’s our wedding dance_. Of course, that was ages ago, before you even mentioned the M word, so I laughed at myself so hard I nearly swallowed my gum.”

“Careful, Rand. You know what happens when you swallow gum.”

“What?”

“You grow a Bubble Yum tree in your stomach.” I flatten my palm over crisp dress shirt and squeeze his flat belly. Ticklish.

He shakes his head as he always does, but his smile is a thousand times brighter today than the usual. “You are so spectacularly weird.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“I do.”

“And want to marry me.”

Shining blue eyes seek and hold. “That’s why I _did_ marry you.”

We keep dancing for hours. We’ve still got the moves.

We’ve got everything.

_So, la, la, la, la, la, la, la…  
So, la, la, la, la, la, la, la…_

  


(Lyrics: “Everything,” Michael Buble)

  



End file.
